It's All the Same (at the end of the day)
by Whiscash
Summary: "You think maybe one of these days we should get around to telling Ma that we're...y'know, alive?" Before heading back out into the unknown, Stan and Ford take care of some (more) unfinished business.


**It's All the Same (at the end of the day)**

 **by Whiscash**

 **notes:** so this was inspired by this gorgeous fanart by liskribbles on tumblr! (blog overall is 18+, but the linked pic is totally sfw) Also huge thanks to the awesome PineStarShip for looking this over for me - definitely go check out his fic :D the Stans were pretty fun to write, I hope I did them justice! As always, if you have any thoughts I would love to hear them, and thank you for reading! c:

Title is from Sad Song by Oasis.

It was fair to say, Stanford Pines had spent a long time thinking he'd never see his family again.

When you'd been drifting through dimensions for as long as he had, it was easy to lose all sense of time, space, reality. There were days when he had no idea whether it had been months, years, decades – most of the time, it took all his energy just to survive, finding whatever sustenance he could grab, never knowing what could be around the corner, locked in a seemingly endless struggle for his life and his sanity. There were times when he could barely remember his own name, let alone what his life used to be, back in his own dimension. But the rare times when he did get a moment to think – those, he knew, were even more dangerous. Ford knew he couldn't let himself remember, even for a second - to think about everyone he'd left back home, if they were worried, who might be searching for him - because that might be what finally broke him. If he didn't pack those thoughts tightly away in the back of his mind, focusing all of his energy on staying alive and alert, then he'd be alone with them forever, tormented by all the mistakes he'd made, the people he'd hurt, the life he could never return to, until one day, one of the nightmarish realities he found himself in would finish him off for good. Fortunately, Ford was always good at compartmentalising.

(And then – well, he might have gotten used to seeing Stanley's horrified face every time he closed his eyes, but he'd hardly dared to even imagine the possibility of seeing the real thing again – much less that he'd be the one to restart the portal.)

But, since he'd made it back to his own dimension, things hadn't exactly let up. He'd been so busy dealing with the fallout from his return, and trying to save the world from Bill, that it had never really sunk in that _he was home_. Maybe because it didn't really feel like home – it had been thirty years, and the world had moved on without him. He still had Stan – and god knows that was its own set of issues – but their parents...he'd spent so long purposefully not thinking about them, sometime long ago he'd already accepted that he must have lost them. Even now that knowing for sure was actually a possibility, he hadn't been able to bring himself to ask Stan about them – not that he'd really had a chance to, since most of the time their lives weren't in immediate danger they'd been talking as little as possible.

But now that was all changing – he'd been given a second chance, and Ford was determined that things were going to be different this time. Now, he and his brother were finally ready to finish what they'd started all those years ago, and construction on the Stan o' War II was well underway. They'd been working hard all morning – Ford was deep in thought deliberating exactly what sort of equipment they'd need for this first batch of anomalies, while Stan was pounding away at some old wood in the background with a hammer. Right up until he casually remarked:

"You think maybe one of these days we should get around to telling Ma that we're...y'know, alive?"

"What?!" Ford's head jerked up as the blueprint he'd been studying fluttered to the floor. "You mean Ma's still _here_? And you didn't think to tell me? Or maybe to tell _her_?"

"What was I _supposed_ to tell her?! 'Oh hey, Ma, things are going great here. By the way, Stanford's just fallen into a crazy sci-fi portal he was building in secret and is probably now lost forever in some godforsaken monster dimension or who _knows_ where – but don't worry, I'm taking real good care of his identity over here now that I'm legally dead!'"

"Well, maybe if you _hadn't_ taken my –" Ford just managed to stop himself, taking a deep breath and clenching his fists before things could escalate into a full-blown argument. "Alright, never mind – that's not important right now. But, Stanley, we _have_ to let Ma know we're safe. We can't just let her go on thinking that we're both..." He trailed off, the words hanging in the air between them – it made his stomach churn to think about what their mother must have gone through, all these years believing that two of her sons were dead.

"Yeah, yeah, I suppose you're right," Stan said reluctantly, setting down his hammer. "Believe me, it's not like I haven't been thinking about her, but... _How_ exactly are we gonna tell her?" He scratched at the back of his head, face creasing into a worried frown. "We just show up after thirty years? How do we even start to explain...?" He waved a hand around vaguely, indicating, presumably, _everything_.

That, Ford had to admit, he didn't have an answer to. "I know," he sighed, steepling his hands under his chin as he thought, "it's going to be...difficult. And just the shock alone – who knows what that could do to her, at her age? If only there was some way to break the news gently..."

"Gently, yeah..." Stan pulled a face – somehow, Ford suspected the word wasn't a regular in his brother's vocabulary. "You got any bright ideas?"

Frustratingly, he didn't – but he wasn't about to admit defeat just yet. "Just give me a few days," he said, picking up the blueprint and attempting to resume work, but his carefully-drawn plans were starting to blur into meaningless squiggles before his eyes. "I'll try and come up with something."

There really wasn't any way to break the news gently.

He and Stan had been talking the whole drive down to the nursing home, going over exactly what they were going to tell their mother they'd been doing for the last thirty years (they'd pretty much settled on "the truth – but not too much of it"). But the closer they got, the more the unease in his stomach grew – and now they'd pulled up in the parking lot, they were both silent, neither making a move to get out.

Ford knew it was ridiculous, but the thought of walking in there, of looking his mother in the eye for the first time in decades, was more terrifying than any of the beings of unspeakable horror he'd faced barely a month ago. He felt like a scared little boy again – what if she was mad at him? Which, of course, she had every right to be. But what if...what if she couldn't forgive him, for leaving her for all these years? He hadn't _planned_ on falling into the portal, but he knew he hadn't exactly been the most attentive son since he'd left for college, either – he should have called more, visited more, done what he could when he had the chance, but what if it was just too late to make amends now? And as for Stan...

He glanced over at his brother, who looked about as peachy as Ford felt – he was almost grey in the face, staring into the distance with a vaguely haunted look and his hands still gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles were turning white, even though he'd stopped driving at least twenty minutes ago. He turned and met Ford's eyes, attempting an unconvincing grin.

"You ready to go in there and bite the bullet?"

"No," Ford replied honestly, acknowledging the trepidation in the air with his own wry smile – it wasn't going to make it any easier, but it was at least some small comfort knowing they were in this together, after he'd been alone for so long. "But...it's Ma. It's the least we can do, after all we've put her through. Even if we can never make up for everything that's happened," he added, as much to himself as to Stan, "she has to know."

"Right," Stan agreed, putting his hand on the door, but he made no move to get out until Ford raised his eyebrows at him expectantly, and he extended a hand. "Ladies first?"

" _Seriously_ , Stanley? How old are we now?" But he was laughing anyway, grateful for the distraction even if it was more nervous energy than anything as they headed up the path together.

Because, in the end, nothing could have prepared him for the look on their mother's face when they walked in. Seeing all the colour drain from her already pale face as their eyes connected from across the room and she pressed her hands to her mouth, her eyes welling up with tears. Utter shock transformed into a kaleidoscope of emotions – from shock to disbelief to joy to anger and all the way back again – across her face as they approached her.

"St-Stanley? Stanford?!"

"Hello, Ma."

"Hey, Ma."

As they mumbled their hopelessly inadequate greetings, she rose to her feet, her eyes wide and almost frightened, like she'd seen a ghost. With a shaking hand, she reached out and gripped the sleeve of Ford's sweater, as though making sure he was real. "But how can...I thought...We _all_ thought you were – "

"I know," Ford said helplessly, as finally she collapsed against him, wrapping her arms around him in a bone-crushing hug, shaking now with muffled sobs as she buried her head against his shoulder. He closed his eyes, swallowing around the lump that stuck in his throat in place of all the infinite apologies and explanations he owed her, and simply held onto her, as though that could somehow make up for all the years they'd lost.

Before he could find any words, she released him and turned to Stan, who returned the embrace, hugging her close and resting one hand protectively on the back of her head. As they clung together, Ford could see him blinking hard behind his glasses, his voice catching as he murmured: "I'm sorry, Ma."

" _Sorry_?!" Their mother let out a strangled noise that could have been a laugh or a sob, or both, against Stan's chest right before she pushed him away. Still shaking, she stood with her hands on her hips, her accusing eyes darting back and forth between them like she couldn't decide who to yell at first. "Do you have _any_ idea how long I've – what we've been through? All this time and you were – you _both_ were..." She shook her head helplessly, tugging her fingers through her hair in anguish, a few strands falling free of their elegant bun.

"Here, Ma – you should sit down." Stan hooked his arm in hers and attempted to guide her gently back to the sofa, but she jerked her arm free as she sat, glaring up at him with wounded eyes.

"Stanley, how can – you were _dead_! It was on the news! We all saw...they said you were..."

"Uh - yeah, about that..." Stan made a face that might have been an ill-advised attempt at a smile, but came out more as a painful grimace. "It's a long story – and we're gonna explain, I swear – but that wasn't me, Ma. I faked the whole thing."

"You _what_?!" Her voice rose to almost a shriek, making a few people around them jump. A woman across the way shot them a disapproving look, but their mother simply flapped a bejewelled hand at her. "Wh-why would you – _How_ could you do that to us? Your father and I – do you have any idea how much we..."

"He did it for me," Ford interrupted, before Stan had a chance to defend himself, as both their eyes fell on him. "I was...lost for a long time, Ma, but Stanley brought me back. I might not even be here today if it weren't for him."

"Eh – it was nothing," Stan shrugged, but his awkward smile widened into something more genuine when Ford caught his eye, offering a half-smile of solidarity.

"You...brought him back?" As she glanced between them, for a second their mother's face softened, the hurt and confusion in her eyes lessening just a little. "Back from _where_? What happened? And why on Earth didn't you _call_?" She nodded at the sofa opposite for them to sit down. "I think you both better start talking."

"Believe me, Ma – if there was _any_ way I could have called, I would have," Ford insisted, as he obediently took a seat alongside Stan. "I was working on a..." he hesitated, searching in vain for any words that could adequately describe the last thirty years of his existence, "a project. I got too wrapped up in it and things got, uh...a little out of hand."

"A _little_?" Their mother raised a sceptical eyebrow, but her tone was a little calmer now, even fond as she shook her head. "I should have known – there was always some project or other. But I heard about all that – whatever it was that happened in Gravity Falls..." After a few moments, her eyes widened as the realisation dawned. "Was that _you_? Are you both okay? Did you get hurt?"

There was an extended, uncomfortable pause, as Ford and Stan exchanged a hesitant look. He sometimes still woke up hearing the screams, feeling the chain around his neck, as much as he wished he could forget – for lack of a less bitterly ironic term, given the circumstances. But there was also a steely resolve in his brother's eyes that he recognised – the wordless agreement that it might not be pleasant, but they were ready to do what they had to. For the world and now, for their Ma.

"Yes," Ford said carefully, pushing his glasses back up the bridge of his nose, "you could say I was...involved in that. But really, it was..."

" _We_ were involved," Stan corrected him firmly, and Ford almost winced, because he doubted _that_ was going to ease their mother's concerns much. "Yeah, that was...something, alright. But don't worry about it now, Ma – we took care of it, with a little help. We're doing just fine." Catching Ford's eye, he managed a brave, if not totally convincing smile before adding, "What really matters is we're here now. We're all here."

"Well, you sure both took your sweet time getting back here," their mother retorted, but she was smiling properly now, her eyes sparkling with joy as well as tears. Stan let out a surprised snort of laughter, and though it wasn't exactly funny, Ford found himself chuckling too – out of pure relief more than anything, as their mother joined in, but well, he couldn't exactly argue with that one either. "But I suppose, after thirty years, the least you could do is see your old Ma again." She paused, still smiling, but it had taken on a distinctly wistful tinge. "If only your father could have been here to see this, too."

Abruptly, the laughter died in his throat, his mouth so suddenly dry that it became an ugly, choking cough instead, eventually petering out into a silence that stretched like the vast chasm of the past between the three of them. Stan cleared his throat, looking down at his feet, and Ford had...well, he'd suspected, from how Stan had conspicuously avoided mentioning their father in all of this. But now that he actually knew he was no longer...

"I'm sorry, Ma," he said quietly. "When...?"

"Five years ago," their mother answered, her voice carefully calm, neutral, but her eyes were misting over again. "He – he'd been sick for a long time. We knew it was coming. But I just wish he'd – if he could have known..." She sighed sorrowfully, glancing down at her clasped hands. "I know things weren't always easy at home. He could be harsh, and – and a little set in his ways, for sure. But he really did try his best for you boys, all of you. And when we heard that you were..." She broke off, attempting to delicately dab at her eyes before continuing.

"I know he wouldn't have wanted things to end like they did. But, you know, I still think about it. Every day, I wondered if I should have tried harder to convince him not to – to let you stay with us. And then maybe none of this...maybe I could have stopped it from happening, if I'd only tried enough."

Ford felt a terrible, familiar pang of guilt in his chest as he glanced over at Stan, who'd fallen silent, avoiding their eyes as he looked down at the the floor.

"Hey, Ma – don't do that to yourself. It's alright," he said gently, reaching out across the table and taking hold of her shaking hands. "None of it was your fault. The old man made his mind up about me a long time before that. And anyway," he let out a sharp, mirthless chuckle, "wasn't like I ever did anything to prove him wrong, right?"

Their mother shook her head at that, squeezing his hands back meaningfully. "Your father was far from perfect, Stanley – but he loved you boys, more than anything, even if he wasn't good at showing it. And I know," she smiled determinedly, pride and love lighting up her face even through the tears in her eyes, "that if he could see the two of you today, if he could hear what you've been through – whatever it is – he would have been so proud of you. And me, well – I always knew you'd find your way back to us one day, however long it took. You always were scrappy – and stubborn, just like him." (Stan wrinkled his nose at that, but Ford had to admit he could see where she was coming from.) "I just knew you'd have to come back to prove him wrong in the end."

"Oh, he still is," Ford confirmed, grinning as he caught his mother's eye and they shared a familiar, exasperated yet fond look. "For better or for worse – but I guess I have to admit, it does come in handy sometimes."

"Gee, _thanks_ , Sixer," Stan huffed, rolling his eyes and crossing his arms in an attempt to look offended, but a smile had crept its way back onto his face, too. "Better hope it comes in handy next time you need me to save your bacon, when we end up on some godforsaken island in the middle of nowhere."

"Wait – what was that?" For a woman of her age, their mother's hearing certainly seemed as sharp as ever, as she narrowed her eyes suspiciously. "You're going _where_ now?"

"That isn't _exactly_ how I would have put it," Ford sighed, shooting Stan an annoyed look – which he ignored, naturally – "but we were going to tell you. We're going to sail around the world, Ma." He couldn't stop his smile widening as he said it, anticipation swelling in his chest just from the thought. "There's still so many fascinating phenomena we've barely touched upon – first, I want to take a look at some anomalies just off the coast of Bermuda. And then, well...who knows what else we'll find out there? Sailing all over – hunting for treasure..." He caught Stan's eye again, both grinning stupidly like they were ten again, ecstatic because the faded text on that old bottle they'd just dug up had almost _certainly_ once been directions to pirate treasure. "Just like we used to talk about when we were kids, remember? I think we've waited long enough now."

"How could I forget? It was all you ever talked about – even though your father would never have let you throw your lives away on something so dangerous, foolhardy and unprofitable," their mother remarked, with just a hint of sadness in her smile. "But I suppose you're a little old now for me to ground you. Just – just promise me you'll be careful, okay? Stanley, you keep an eye on your brother for me, won't you? You know how he gets carried away with his _research_." She grinned, shaking her head as though it were the most preposterous thing she'd ever heard.

"Boy, do I ever," Stan chuckled, enjoying himself far too much as he reached out to slap Ford on the back with a little more force than was strictly necessary. "Don't you worry, Ma. Poindexter here's in good hands. Heh – good hands..."

"I've been doing this for over forty _years_ now, Ma," Ford pointed out, though it came out closer to "petulant child" than the "seasoned adventurer" he'd been going for. "I think I know what I'm doing."

"I know you have – and that's what worries me," she said wryly, before shooting him a knowing wink. "But anyway, Stanford, I'm relying on you to keep your brother out of jail, too."

"If not worse," he agreed with a smirk, unable to resist throwing a triumphant _see?_ look back in his brother's direction, to which Stan responded by throwing up his hands in mock surrender.

"Hey, I'm clean! I haven't been inside since...uh..." He trailed off, scratching at his chin. "Second thought, maybe I'd better not answer that."

"I'll try my best," Ford assured their mother, returning the wink. "It's not like I could do this without him, after all."

"Absolutely – you two stick together," their mother nodded. As she looked between her sons, her eyes began to mist over with nostalgia. "You always did, from the minute you could crawl. You were so different, but you were always together – and always running off somewhere you shouldn't be, too. I guess some things never change – but I...I still can't believe..." Her voice trembled under the weight of years of pent-up emotion, a few tears spilling down her cheeks as she blinked. "After everything that happened, all the years I thought about you, all the things I wished I'd said when I had the chance...I never, _ever_ dreamed that I'd live to see my boys together again."

Ford didn't need to look at Stan for them to move at the same time, shuffling around the coffee table to squeeze in either side of their mother. Carefully, they each draped an arm around her shoulders as she slipped hers around their waists, fiercely pulling the three of them together into a group hug. They stayed like that for a few moments; bracketed between them, she felt tiny and frail in his arms, but her grip was vice-like, holding onto both of them like she was never letting go. Ford could smell her perfume as he leaned in, his cheek brushing the top of her head – that musky, powdery scent he hadn't smelt in decades, yet immediately brought it all flooding back, a rush of days gone by and everything he'd missed for so long, so sudden and sharp it pierced his chest and threatened to spill from his eyes until he squeezed them shut.

"I missed you, too," he murmured, and pressed a soft kiss to the top of her head. "But it's alright now, Ma, I promise. We're here."

"We're not going anywhere." He could hear Stan swallow hard on her other side, feel his grip tighten protectively around the both of them as he said it, holding his family together. Their mother didn't say anything, but she squeezed back in what felt like silent gratitude, until they gradually began to ease apart. Ford let his hand fall from her shoulder to the sofa between them, where she covered it with hers.

"Anyway," Stan said after the moment had passed, taking off his glasses and hastily scrubbing at where they'd gotten steamed up as they relaxed back on the sofa. "You ever get to meet Shermie's grandkids, Ma?"

They spent the rest of the afternoon filling her in on their eventful summer (with some of the crazier details omitted, naturally). Stan dug in his wallet to produce a well-worn photo of the twins, real pride in his voice as he talked about how Mabel could make friends with anyone and anything – whether they wanted it or not – and how Dipper was so smart and curious and into "all that nerd stuff", as he eloquently put it, just like Ford. Their mother listened eagerly, laughing at all the crazy stories and making them promise that of course they'd bring the twins to visit her next time, when they were back. And that they'd _call_ this time, and write to her from wherever they ended up – but they absolutely _were_ coming back this time, and she'd see to it even if she had to get on a boat herself and drag the pair of them back to civilisation by their ears.

And Ford realised then that up until then, he'd never fully believed that he _could_ come back. The places he'd been, the things he'd seen, both literal and metaphorical – they stayed with you, changed you, no matter how many dimensions away they were. He'd come to accept it, because even long before he fell into the portal, he'd never pictured himself with a normal life. A steady job, a family – well, he'd _had_ a family, but they never could have understood him or all the things he hoped to achieve, so maybe he was better off alone. That's what he'd told himself back then, day after day, until he almost believed it.

Ford had been wrong about a lot of things, he'd realised over the years, but he didn't think he'd ever been so happy about it. Well, maybe his family wasn't ever going to be _normal_ , he thought, smiling as he looked over at his mother and his brother, laughing together as Stan recounted some story involving Waddles and a stack of bobbleheads – but they were always going to be his.

Stan looked up then – as if he knew, though it had been a while since they'd exercised their twin telepathy skills – and smiled, tentative yet hopeful, like the future, and Ford knew then that, no matter what happened or where they ended up next, everything was going to be okay.

He was home.


End file.
